Warning Track (Callahan Family #1) - Carrie Aarons Page 0,13

off the cross she was bearing, I think I actually might know just how much she does.

“So, you were grabbing a coffee? Out for a stroll on your day off?” she asks politely, eyeing the paper cup in my hand.

I shrug. “Figure I couldn’t sit in the house any longer.”

“I could show you around a bit, I do know most everything there is to know about this town.” Her smile is genuine and holds no agenda.

There is this spark between us, I recognize the primal feeling in my chest. I knew it the first time I saw her, that niggling in your chest that tells you a certain person is someone you might be interested in, even if you haven’t said one word to them. I’ve had it on a few different accounts, but none as strong or persistent as Colleen Callahan. Even before I knew what her father had done, I’d tried to extinguish that spark inside me.

She’s the general manager, and before that she was a top-level executive in the organization I now play for. That already made things messy. To complicate matters, though, anyone who dated me was under public scrutiny. I’ve had a couple relationships during my career, and the one-off dates I brought to parties. Those women were ripped apart in the tabloids, on social media, and speculation lingered long after the romance had fizzled out.

With two people who were already in the spotlight, much less in the positions we were? Nothing good could come of us being seen in anything but a professional capacity.

And if I am being honest, I don’t trust myself to go on a walk with this woman. I didn’t want her charming my ear off and making me think any certain way about her or her family. I didn’t want to like her, because that recognition in my chest, if let loose, could imagine a whole lot of things with this woman.

No, it’s safest to keep my distance.

“I don’t think it would be wise for either of us to be seen hanging out with one another. This is a small town, professional baseball is a small world. I don’t think I need to explain that to you.” I raise an eyebrow.

My subtle rejection probably comes off as cold, but if that’s what I need to do to keep her at arm’s length, then I’ll do so.

Colleen nods, understanding passing over her face. “No, you’re right. Have a nice day, Mr. Swindell.”

She takes off quickly in the opposite direction, and even though I just passed her up on the offer to walk together, I can’t help it when my eyes flit down to her perky, sculpted ass in those yoga pants.

It irks me, the way she used my formal title, the way I’d sneakily asked her to. But this is for the best, and so I turn around the way I came to avoid any further run-ins.

7

Colleen

“Parmesan fries, table eight!”

I hear Ashley yell as she slides a steaming hot pile of shoestring potatoes out the kitchen window. A waitress picks them up in a seamless move as she passes the window, not even bothering to slow her walk.

“God, those smell good. I think we should splurge.” My cousin, Whitney, hungrily rubs her hands together.

We’re sitting on brown leather stools, nursing vodka martinis, at Hudson’s Bar & Grill. This place is a Packton staple, serving everything from local Pennsylvania Dutch recipes to mouth-watering burgers. And you can always count on Ollie, the owner, to pour you a well-mixed, stiff drink. It’s not often that I give myself a night out, and Whitney is married with kids, so we indulge when we do get a couple of hours out together.

As far as friends go, mine are typically blood-related. That’s what happens when you grow up in the same town as your entire extended family. You’re bound to end up going through every school together, and when the playground gets rough, you stick with the people who have to love you from the start.

It helps that Whit and I are close in age, both love trashy reality TV shows to unwind, and she’s just a genuinely good person. She’s one of my only family members not to be tied to the ball club, and I enjoy that even more; being able to dish with someone who doesn’t want to talk shop even on night’s off is good for me.

“I concur, let’s do it. And another martini, while we’re at it.” I sip on mine,